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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963074">Caught Off Guard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanagotconed20/pseuds/lanagotconed20'>lanagotconed20</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:40:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanagotconed20/pseuds/lanagotconed20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the end of Avengers: Endgame, when Steve goes back in time to live his life with Peggy. I thought it would be interesting to imagine how Steve explained everything to Peggy. So, here we go!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter One</p><p>I look in the mirror and adjust my lipstick - deep red. A proper, British red. A red that has served me well over the past several years, both in combat and as a civilian. It has drawn people in - men, most specifically - and it has also chased them away - men, most entirely. This red lets people know I am, undoubtedly, not just a pretty face and smart figure. I am a force to be reckoned with, and this particular shade is needed on a night like tonight.</p><p>As I stare back at my reflection, I can’t help but note the puffiness and dark circles around my eyes. Although I have grown quite accustomed to it throughout my years in service, tonight they appear especially forlorn.</p><p>“There,” I say to myself as I apply an extra coat to my lips. “That should do it.”</p><p>Looking back into my flat for anything I have forgotten, I collect my keys, powder, lipstick, and wallet and put them in my purse. As a last second grab, I walk back over to my dresser and pull out a handkerchief. Regardless of my resiliency, even I, Peggy Carter, have a chink in my armor. With a last spritz of perfume - his favorite, by my best guess - I close the door softly behind me.</p><p>Per usual, I walk with my head held both high and proud. I walk with the purpose of a woman on a mission. I must admit, I have outdone myself tonight with my attire - an emerald green dress with a sweetheart neckline and capped sleeves, flowing about my curves in the most flattering way. Paired with my black heels and favorite pearls, I am dressed to kill. “What else is new,” I think to myself. I smirk at the thought of any man around me presuming I have a pistol in my thigh holster. Always prepared, I always say. Never be caught off guard.</p><p>Steve caught me off guard.</p><p>From the very moment I laid my eyes on him, I was stricken. To honor my pride, I did my damndest to not let it show, but in the end, he won. To borrow his words: I found the right partner.</p><p>My steady pace carries me to where I know I need to go. I bring my mind back to focus, back to my mission. The one thing I must do for myself. The only thing that can give me the kick I need to move on.</p><p>As I turn the corner, The Stork Club comes into view in all of its flashing glory. About a dozen people are chatting out front, and one mustachioed man with a feather in his fedora has the courage to cat call in my direction. One glare from my dark eyes, boring right into his, completely unabated makes him lose his nerve. It always does.</p><p>Except with Steve. He always stared right back, unabashed, but with the utmost respect. He was the first man to truly make me feel both capable and feminine all at once.</p><p>I walk right up to the front door and slip inside as another couple exits. To have mustered up the nerve to make it this far has taken all of the strength I presently have left. In my time in the war I witnessed many things, felt many things, and endured many things. All were awful. But none have compared to this last week.</p><p>I lost my partner, who never even had the chance to be my partner proper. I lost the man I hadn’t even been searching for, yet found me. I lost Steve. So now here I am, once and for all, to prove to myself that he really is gone. Once I see that, surely my brain and my heart will be triggered to haul myself back up by my bootstraps and move on. It must be done.</p><p>7:53 pm. On the radio, when he was going down in that godforsaken aircraft, I told Steve to meet me here at The Stork Club at 8:00 pm sharp. I promised him a dance, and he promised me one. And I make good on my promises. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, whether he be alive or dead.</p><p>Steve is - he was - a true soldier. Best I’d seen by far, not in his strength and combat readiness, but in his character, resilience, loyalty, and desire to do what is right - regardless of direct orders. Alive, he would not miss this date for the world. Dead, well… maybe I will be able to still feel him here somehow.</p><p>I walk over to the bar, squeezing my way through the couples flirting with one another there. I signal the bartender. “Gin and tonic, if you please,” I say over the sound of “Sing, Sing, Sing” coming from the band. Couples are swinging about all across the floor, and why shouldn’t they? The war is over. Sweethearts, separated by continents and by years, reunited.</p><p>“Here you are, love.” The bartender sets the drink down in front of me and I give my thanks. Tonight, it appears I am the only one alone. Under any other circumstances, this would not have bothered me in the slightest; but tonight, how I long to be one of the carefree dancers. What I would give for one dance with my right partner.</p><p>Sipping my drink, I settle in for the evening. Anyone who walks in the door has the plainest view of me - I cannot be missed. So here I shall sit. And I shall prove to myself and to the universe that Steve is truly gone. I must. I must.</p><p>8:01 pm. I look down and realize that my gin and tonic did not last near as long as it typically does. Nerves - it must be. I signal the bartender once more. “Something a bit stronger, now, if you will.”</p><p>“Certainly, miss,” he says as he walks down to the other side of the bar. Glass in hand, he returns with a whiskey.</p><p>“Perfect, thanks.”</p><p>Hard as I try to keep my mind from wandering, it inevitably wins as I sip the whiskey. I think of Steve. I want to remember the hero he was - properly dwell on it, even if I am indulging myself more so than I ever do. Abandoning all control of my thoughts, I think of the life we could have had.</p><p>I see him there, on the first day of training, scrawny as ever. I smile as I think about how scared he looked. Against the other big, burly men, he looked resolute - even if he did look a bit frightened.</p><p>I see him as he steps out of the Vita-Ray machine, out of breath and clearly in pain. I remember my own overwhelming need to care for him, and I also remember chastising myself for such nonsense.</p><p>I see him in his horrible monkey suit of a costume, performing on stage for the 107th - which turned out to be his last show. How confident he had seemed.</p><p>I see him leading lost men back to safety and I lose my resolve entirely. There was no hiding the pride in my eyes, regardless of how I tried.</p><p>Sipping my second glass of whiskey, I let my mind continue. How wonderful it is to let my mind wander, remember, want, and grieve. Only for tonight.</p><p>I see him in his military suit, buying his men another round at the pub. His eyes, ever so soft, beholding me in my red dress. I knew this effect would be had on him. Intentionally, against my better judgement, I sought him out. At this point, I stopped questioning why and began to give myself over to this growing emotion.</p><p>I see him there, holding his shield, as I shot at him after seeing him kiss that other woman. I remember the fury I felt, and wondering why I felt it in all its intensity.</p><p>I see him in combat, fighting alongside myself and his men, courage and valor abounding with his every move.</p><p>I see him there, in the back of the roadster, waiting for his opportunity to jump aboard the aircraft. I kissed him - a full on the mouth kiss - rules and regulations and propriety be damned. “Go get ‘em,” I told him with a reassuring smile.</p><p>My head begins to swim around - perhaps I’ll stop after this glass.</p><p>I see him in his photograph, the one I was given from his files just days ago. Taken from the first few days of boot camp, in all his scrawny, small timidity.</p><p>I see him at the door, staring directly at me, making his way towards me.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>I couldn’t possibly.</p><p>That whiskey must have been stronger than I realized.</p><p>I’d heard of this before - grief induced hallucinations. The alcohol surely played a role here.</p><p>But yet - there he is, eyes locked on mine. Relief, joy, pain, that same timidity, all in those eyes. Dressed in a gray tweed suit with a white dress shirt and black tie, he’s more handsome than I could have ever remembered on my own.</p><p>I want this to be real. I do. But I know it mustn’t be. My mind is letting me see what I desperately want to. I signal the bartender for another shot of whiskey and down it quickly. Might as well. If I’m going to hallucinate, I shall hallucinate properly.</p><p>“Peggy.”</p><p>I look up and there he is, an arms length away from me. So close I could almost feel him. He looks so real. Just for now, I want to imagine as if this were true. I know I’ll feel this keenly tomorrow, but for now - to hell with it.</p><p>The sharp blue of his eyes, the squareness of his jaw, his full lips I remember so well being on mine, the broadness of his shoulders, his trim waist, his thick blond hair… such detail. It’s as if my subconscious is allowing me to say a final goodbye.</p><p>“Good heavens, I can’t be seen talking to myself,” I say strongly as I look right back at him. Or rather, what my mind has convinced me is him. Maybe it’s a Steve look alike, trying to win my affections for the evening. The alcohol is taking more effect than I generally care for it to, but I am still coherent enough to realize my reality. Steve is gone. He is not here.</p><p>“Peggy,” hallucination Steve starts again, “I know this must be hard for you to believe. But I’m alive. I’m here to stay.”</p><p>Wow. Even hallucination Steve knows exactly what I would have wanted him to say. The only thing that was missing was -</p><p>“May I have this dance?”</p><p>He extends his hand towards mine. I hear “Moonlight Serenade” in the background, see couples swaying out on the floor, and for a moment I consider the plausibility that he may in fact actually be right in front of me. My gut tells me to reach for his hand.</p><p>I do. I take his hand. And I thank God for allowing my subconscious mind to afford me this beautiful dream.</p><p>And so we dance.</p><p>His eyes never leaving mine, he backs his way onto the floor, leading me along with him. I feel tears begin to pour down my cheeks. There was no stopping them. I am weak, whereas I am typically so strong, and even in his death, I am relying on Steve’s strength to carry me, whether he is aware of it or not. Both in life and death, my heart is Steve’s. There it has been for quite some time now.</p><p>Tomorrow, I will dust off this dream and store it in a safe place and carry on with my life as I must do - but for now, how lovely, how wonderful, this dream of mine.</p><p>Make believe Steve places his steady hand on my back and pulls me close to him, and I rest my hand on his chest. He takes my free hand in his own and holds it close to his heart. I feel so safe, so secure in this embrace, and it is more beautiful a moment than I ever could have imagined.</p><p>I glance up through my tears, ever streaming down my cheeks, at his face. His gaze on me is so tender, so relieved. I decide I may as well live this hallucination to the fullest and cherish it. I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. He closes his eyes at my touch, leaning into my palm. We sway to the music together, partners.</p><p>At this point, our noses are almost touching. Such vivid detail in my mind’s rendering of my precious Steve. “Upon my word, you even smell real,” I whisper under my breath as I take in his familiar aftershave.</p><p>“I am real. I’m here. I’m right here with you,” he says, pulling me closer to him protectively. “If you’ll have me, I never intend to leave your side again. I have so much to explain to you I don’t even know where to begin,” he says with a grin. “But for now, I owe you this dance.”</p><p>I want to live forever in this moment. I give myself over to it, resting my head on his chest. Hallucination Steve softly kisses my forehead, letting his lips linger. How can it feel so real?</p><p>We dance in our embrace for more songs than I can count - even the upbeat ones. On any other night, I may have heard someone shout to “get a room” - but that’s one good thing about the war’s end still being fresh on everyone’s mind. Who is to question two reunited at last?</p><p>“I must look a fool, swaying here all by myself. I have utterly lost my mind,” I say to myself looking around me. No one seems to notice my odd behavior. Strange.</p><p>Taking my face into his hands, make believe Steve looks deep into my eyes. “Peggy Carter. I am really here.”</p><p>And with that statement, my eyes close just before his lips reach mine. Our last kiss was hasty, full of desperation, and all too quick. This kiss, however - real or not - was everything our first kiss should have been. He took his time, softly, then deepening the kiss as I gave myself over to him. As far as I was concerned, I never intended to pull away.</p><p>After a minute or two, hallucination Steve pulls away and gives a small grin. “Someone has had more to drink than usual,” and I wonder what the hell he means by that. Margaret Carter can handle a few whiskeys better than half the men in her acquaintance, I assure myself. “I think it’s time I got you home.”</p><p>“No. Not a chance. When I leave here, you leave as well. And I cannot bear the thought,” I say as I place my hands around his neck and pull his face back down to mine. I have made an unconscious vow to never leave this moment, and I never break a promise.</p><p>“I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way. Believe me - our dance won’t stop here. I promise you that. Trust me, please.”</p><p>“Don’t let go. Alright?”</p><p>“Alright, I won’t let go.”</p><p>Arm never leaving my waist, pseudo Steve walks me towards the door. Peculiar, it seems as though the crowd is parting for two, not just one. Could it possibly… no. I will not allow my hopes to be crushed in that magnitude. A dream - a dream I insist. There is no other reasonable explanation.</p><p>“Um, Peg?”</p><p>“Yes, my not-truly-here darling,” I say, my voice slurring only slightly.</p><p>“Which way is home?”</p><p>“Down 4 blocks and around the corner. Above the swanky laundromat.”</p><p>He chuckles and leads the way. I must admit, that had to have been some top notch whiskey to induce such a scene in my mind. Quite some whiskey indeed.</p><p>We walk in silence for a block or two. My fuzzy mind can’t keep count, and I am not only high on the drink, but utterly buzzed on thoughts of my Steve.</p><p>“You didn’t deserve to go down in that wretched aircraft,” I sob. “I am so sorry we couldn’t save you.” I’m appalled at myself. I normally keep my emotions much more in check. In public, at least.</p><p>“It was my choice, my duty. I would lay down my life over and over to make sure that you were safe,” Steve stated firmly. What confidence I recall in him. My subconscious really drives that particular trait of his home in this illusion.</p><p>We round the corner to my street. The laundromat comes into view. “Oh yeah, real swanky. The Queen wash her delicates here?”</p><p>“Very funny, Steve. The army didn’t exactly pay a woman the big bucks, you know. A woman must support herself as well as she can.”</p><p>He looks to me with a question in his eyes. It dawns on me that my subconscious must have failed to inform him of which flat is mine.</p><p>I point the way, and he leads me up the stairs to my door, 207. I fumble around for my keys in my bag, wondering just how cluttered this one purse can seem with so few items.</p><p>I finally grab hold of my key, but can’t seem to make the keyhole stand still long enough to unlock the door. “Allow me,” make believe Steve says softly as he circles his hand around my own.</p><p>“Stay. Stay with me, Steve. Don’t leave me - not again,” I begin to cry. I’m so emotional I just can’t help it. Damn alcohol - never again. I must regain control. No one is going to be here to pick me up from this dream but myself. It’s high time I snap out of it and get back to the business of moving on.</p><p>“I made you a promise, Peg. I’m right here. Look at me,” he says as he again draws my face towards his. He plants a kiss on my cheek, forehead, nose, my other cheek, and finally my lips. The janitor will have to mop me up in the morning - I just melted right where I stood.</p><p>Feeling my knees buckle, Steve steadies me. Sensing my exhaustion, he scoops me up effortlessly into his arms and leads me inside.</p><p>“Oh, how very naughty of you,” I laugh as he carries me towards my bed. “The real Steve wouldn’t be caught dead in a woman’s bedroom unless he was properly married to her.”</p><p>“To hell with propriety,” he says as he steps through the kitchen and down the short hallway. “I’ve waited a lifetime - two lifetimes, actually - to be here with you. Nothing else matters anymore.”</p><p>Pseudo Steve lays me gently on my bed, which leaves me wondering how it’s not truly Steve. How else… no. Somehow I have carried my own self to my bed, and that’s that. Perhaps in my sleep I can hold this dream just a while longer.</p><p>“Goodnight, Peg.”</p><p>Clear as a bell, it was almost as if Steve himself whispered it in my ear. How lovely that I can remember him so clearly, if but for a moment. Cherishing the memories, I drift off into a deep sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When I wake the next morning, I gather my bearings as I have had to since the war ended. I’m not waking up in a strange place anymore - no, I am safe in my own flat. Resting my aching head, I try to recall how I got myself home last night. </p>
<p>I remember my dream - Steve was alive and it felt so real, so tangible, I almost broke down at the memory. Closing my eyes, I try to bring back every detail - the feeling of his arm around me, his lips on mine, his piercing blue eyes, our dance. I want to commit it all to memory as if it had truly been real. </p>
<p>“Right, then,” I mutter to no one as I haul myself out of bed. Odd. I am still fully dressed in last evening’s attire, though it seems I at least had the decency to remove my earrings, necklace, and shoes. I must have been drunker than I thought. I never, ever sleep with my stockings on. And my pearls are too precious to just leave out on the dresser - they were my grandmother’s. I typically put them away in a drawer for safekeeping. </p>
<p>I change into something a bit more practical - slacks and a button up shirt - to get started with the day. I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table and I’m quite shocked to see it reads 7:17am. Speaking honestly, I cannot remember a time, even before my service, that I have ever slept so late. Early bird gets the worm, after all. </p>
<p>My feet move in more of a shuffle than a walk, but until I’ve had my tea, I give them leave to shuffle along as they please. Grief lingers far longer than anyone wishes it to, and Steve is still the freshest thing on my mind. Placing the kettle on the stove, I make my way to the door to find the morning paper. As I stoop down to pick it up, I hear something - a muffled sound - coming from my own living room. </p>
<p>The thought of being threatened by a burglar - some man who has somehow gotten his way into my flat - is almost laughable. Not entirely what I wanted to deal with this morning, but doable nonetheless. I go over my options for my own defense in my mind before deciding upon which execution to take: 1) I could sneak around from behind, taking the burglar by surprise and laying him out on his arse; 2) I could storm the room, pistol in hand, and make him leave immediately; or 3) I could walk in, ask who is there, and play a bit of a game - perhaps I may even let him believe he has me pinned for a moment before demolishing his manhood. </p>
<p>I decide to decide on the way in. </p>
<p>Upon my further investigation, I deduce that the noise is in fact a snore. “What a lousy burglar this one must be,” I think to myself as I round the corner. “Falling asleep in a house full of items - not very valuable save my pearls, mind you - but still…” </p>
<p>Upon my word, I never thought I would be the first in my family to lose my mind. Yet here I am. </p>
<p>Impossible. </p>
<p>Truly, indubitably, honestly - impossible. </p>
<p>With his face buried in a throw pillow, barely covered by my crocheted throw on my settee - is Captain Steve Rogers. </p>
<p>Shock floods my body. Worry tackles my emotions. Have I utterly lost my mind? Am I so weak that grief is truly making me hallucinate? </p>
<p>I lose track of time. My tea kettle is howling. I can’t move. Even if I am hallucinating, even if I am crazy, I can’t shatter this beautiful facade. </p>
<p>I think to myself, for once considering the most logical explanation - was it all true - last night - is this possibly true? </p>
<p>Plucking up my courage, I tiptoe over to the couch and kneel down next to him. He looks exhausted beyond words. So real. </p>
<p>My bravery continues as I reach out to touch his face. </p>
<p>He jumps awake and I jump back. </p>
<p>Seeing how startled and befuddled I am, Steve apologizes immediately. “I’m sorry to startle you, Peg, but this is all taking some getting used to for me, too.” With a grin, he adds: “Oh, and good morning. Last night was everything I could have dreamed it would be.” </p>
<p>I realize that I have not yet spoken. Do I succumb to my own insanity? Do I just set up camp and live here? At least for now… may as well, I suppose. </p>
<p>“Hey, Peg… at least say something. Please.” </p>
<p>I stare at him as ferociously as I can muster. This fantasy is not running away. </p>
<p>With the utmost patience, Steve holds my gaze. </p>
<p>“Um… Peg?”</p>
<p>Still, I stare, at war with my own mind. </p>
<p>He simply resigns to staring back at me. </p>
<p>Minutes go by. Neither of us breaks the other’s gaze. The kettle continues to howl, growing ever impatient. </p>
<p>“I’m sure that your water has boiled out by now. I’d sure hate for you to ruin that nice teapot,” Steve says with a smirk. </p>
<p>It’s a kettle, dream Steve. We are in Britain. </p>
<p>Loathing the fact that our little contest is over, for various reasons which I shall not divulge, I pick myself up from the floor and make my way to the stove. I throw a glance over my shoulder as I do so, thinking that as I look to the settee, my hallucination will have ended. </p>
<p>To my continual surprise, it has not. Steve chuckles at my expression, which I’m sure portrayed incredulousness, disbelief, and a bit of humor. After all, one must find a bit of humor in their own spiral into insanity. </p>
<p>I remove the kettle from the stove. He’s right; the water has all but boiled out completely. As I turn around to the sink to refill the kettle, I find Steve leaned up against the counter with his arms crossed. His eyes are crinkled with amusement. But I find something else there, as well - the same look I saw in last night’s illusion, of contentment and relief, as if he were settling into his favorite chair after a long day’s work. </p>
<p>Still, I had not decided on whether or not to engage in my own madness. Silently, I calculate the consequences of doing so. Last night while under the influence, I indulged. Perhaps I could do so again. At least this time it would be in the privacy of my own home, rather than making myself a strange spectacle for the world to see. </p>
<p>“Alright, Mr. Fake Steve That Has Been Concocted in my Own Mind. I’ll bite. I suppose perhaps I’m happier in madness anyway,“ I sigh as I refill the pot. </p>
<p>He looks to my fridge, where I have a postcard from a friend of mine held up by a magnet. As magnificent as the Eiffel Tower is, I daresay it’s structure needs not the scrutiny of his gaze. </p>
<p>After a few moments, his eyes return to me. I turn around, leaning forward on the other side of the counter. To focus on something I know is real, I study my hands, so well worn from the previous months of war. Silently, I pray to God, who I have so often neglected to address, that He gives me some sort of sign.</p>
<p>With tears welling up in my eyes - partly from grief, but now also from hope - I feel his hand rest on my shoulder. </p>
<p>“How can I convince you that I’m real?” He all but whispers behind me. </p>
<p>The desperation in his voice breaks me. I turn around slowly. </p>
<p>Here we go. </p>
<p>Looking at his chest, I place my hand over his heart. </p>
<p>Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. </p>
<p>Well, that seems real enough. </p>
<p>Hesitantly, all the while my eyes are locked on a button on his shirt, I allow my hand to slide up to his neck. </p>
<p>Finally, I brave to go a little further. I touch his cheek, ever so lightly. Still looking down, I feel Steve turn his face towards my hand and kisses my fingertips. </p>
<p>At that, the butterflies in my stomach feel most real of all. </p>
<p>Finally, I look up at his eyes. Such concern in those eyes, such protective love. Silently, I wonder if he is seeing the same in mine. </p>
<p>Barely above a whisper, I ask a simple question. “Steve… how?” </p>
<p>That one word seems to exhaust him. I feel his body fall, just slightly enough for me to notice. </p>
<p>“It’s such a long story, I don’t even know where to begin.” </p>
<p>Having peace about the fact that I am sure I can press him for every detail in time, I decide that for the present I will be content with finally allowing myself to believe it. </p>
<p>Steve is here. In my flat. With me. Against all odds, he must have made it out of the aircraft. Somehow, he’d survived. Somehow, he’d made his way back to me. </p>
<p>Relief washes over me in waves, and against my better judgement, I cry. </p>
<p>Mind you, I don’t cry very often. But when I do, it’s like I make up for all the times that I haven’t allowed myself the luxury. </p>
<p>This time, Steve doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just pulls me close. I wrap my arms around him in return, allowing myself to feel all that I have been refusing to feel. </p>
<p>Grief was now joy. Pain was now relief. Anger was now peace. </p>
<p>We stood there for a long while, holding onto each other. Neither of us seemed to have any intention on moving, but eventually we both heard Steve’s stomach growl. </p>
<p>It was so loud, that even in the seriousness of it all, we both had to snicker. </p>
<p>“I guess I should be fixing you some breakfast,” I say with a sigh. I turn around, quite reluctant to release my hold on him, but the cereal I keep in the cupboard won’t pour itself into a bowl. </p>
<p>Opening the small cabinet, I take out the box of corn flakes and realize that it is dolefully empty. To be sure, I give it a small shake. </p>
<p>Yep. Crumbs. Damn. </p>
<p>Steve lets out a small chuckle and takes the box from my hands, sets in on the counter, and grabs both my hands up in his. His touch is so… what word could describe it? Reassuring? Warm? Resolute? Loving? I decide to simply go with all. </p>
<p>“How about I take you out for a nice breakfast and we can talk about, well… everything I guess,” Steve says with a shrug. “Is there a diner around here?”</p>
<p>Thinking of a nice place just around the corner from my building, I look up at him and smile. “Actually, I do know a place not so far from here.” </p>
<p>In response, his stomach lets loose another ferocious growl. “Though, we may have to consider that one diner may not have enough eggs to satiate that growling beast,” I say with a flirty smirk. </p>
<p>My flirtation lands as a direct hit. Just a simple smirk leaves Steve in a blushing mess. </p>
<p>“But,” I continue, trailing a hand up from his stomach to his neck, “I do believe we’ll be able to work something out.” When did I saunter up so close to him? I decide I don’t mind, and from his hands on my hips, I decide that he must not mind either. I draw his face down to mine and leave a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. </p>
<p>“Uh….” Steve looks into my eyes, practically putty. Oh, this is gonna be fun. </p>
<p>To drive my point home, I allow my fingers to run their way through his short hair. </p>
<p>He closes his eyes and hums in contentment. </p>
<p>I release my hold on him, making my way back to my room. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder to see the wreckage I left behind. Just as I assumed, he’s barely moved a muscle and has a certain dazed look on his face. “Just grabbing my coat and shoes,” I say in a cheery voice. </p>
<p>This is going to be a lovely day.</p>
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